Blue
by Jessa4865
Summary: What if Carter had gotten in the car at the end of Number Crunch? Slightly AU, Carter/Reese, rated for language COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Blue  
>Jezyk<br>Spoilers: Through Number Crunch.

AN: This is a slightly AU piece, only very slightly as it only alters about the last 5 seconds of Number Crunch.

Part One

She only had a second to make the decision. She'd already made the big one, holstering her weapon and helping the wounded man into the car. His friend, the weird guy, wasn't the fastest man on Earth, but it wouldn't take him long to reach the driver's seat. The only remaining decision was if she would stand there and watch as they left or if she would follow her instincts and climb in the car with them.

She stared at him, his pain evident in his paled skin, his sweat-covered face, his helpless eyes. She didn't have a choice. Not really. They'd lied to her. Again. Used her skills, her reputation, her trustworthiness, her honesty to kill someone. Again.

He wasn't dead, not yet, but she had little doubt he would be soon.

And the ache in his eyes, so much deeper than the physical pain he was feeling, was going to stick with her a long time.

By the time John's friend had reached the front of the car, her decision was made. It wasn't even hers to make, John had made it for her, with that pleading desperation and sadness he revealed in his expression.

She climbed over him, knowing he didn't have the strength to move over, knowing she didn't have the time to run around the car. Her hand landed on his leg, bracing her weight as she pushed herself over to the far side of the car, his grunt and the sticky fluid seeping between her fingers telling her there'd been at least a second wound.

God only knew how many there were. She'd only seen him hit the first time in the gut before he'd started firing. At first, she'd ducked behind the SUV, thinking he was meaning to take them out, only realizing after he started running that he'd been aiming for the headlights. He'd been hit twice by then, explaining why he'd gone for the lights, trying to buy himself time to get away.

How the hell he'd managed to get up, let alone run away and trip down the steps, with two gaping holes in him, she'd never know.

She pulled the door closed, hearing the sound in stereo as the driver closed his as well.

"Go!"

Snow and his buddy would be close behind and she knew they'd kill all three of them without a second thought. Snow had said they'd been best friends. She snorted to herself for believing it.

John's head fell back and his eyes were drifting closed. Running a hand across his forehead, Carter found his skin cold and clammy. He was losing too much blood. Soon it wouldn't matter to John if Snow found them or not. He was already in shock. She couldn't let him die. If she did, it would be her fault. His blood on her hands.

Frightened, and angered, by the situation, she tried to deal with the emergency rationally. Panicking wasn't going to help. She gripped John's chin, hard enough for his eyes to pull open to meet hers. "How many times were you hit? Two? Three? More?"

His eyes were straining to focus, confusion and uncertainty washing over his face. "Two," he whispered as his eyes drifted shut again.

"Turn on the overhead light." The car was illuminated immediately.

She pushed John down on the seat as she shifted herself onto her knees on the floor. Two bullets. So much damage. The one in his leg was bleeding heavily, but once the bleeding was stopped, she didn't think it would be too dangerous. "Do you have a belt?" She called over the seat, hearing a bewildered voice replying affirmatively. "Give it to me, he's bleeding out!"

A moment of crazy swerving later and the belt flopped over the seat onto her shoulder. She tied it around John's leg as tightly as she could, satisfied by the way the blood stopped pouring out. Then she moved onto the wound in his side, knowing without a skilled doctor, and possibly not even then, John wasn't going to make it. She had some medic training from her days in the army, but it wouldn't do anything for him.

All she could do was try to stop the bleeding and keep him warm. She pulled off her coat and covered him with it. Her blazer was polyester, but it was all she had. Taking that off as well, she wadded it up and pressed it against John's side. She leaned all her weight on it, hearing the pathetic groan of pain that was all the man had left to issue.

"You have somewhere to go? A hospital or something?" She hated the panic in her voice. "He needs a doctor now!"

The other man's voice was laced with the same panic as he answered. "There's a small clinic that will treat him without questions. We just have to get there."

"A clinic? He needs a hospital, surgery, real medical treatment, not a fucking flu shot!" She turned around, glaring at the man over the seat. "Your friend is going to bleed to death back here, stop worrying about having to answer a few god damned questions. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Anger eclipsed the worry in the man's voice, but the car speed up obligingly. "My friend wouldn't be bleeding at all if it weren't for you. He was trying to help you."

Carter swallowed hard, the taste of betrayal burning her mouth. The man was absolutely right. John was dying in front of her because of her own choice. If there was ever a moment in her life she wanted to take back, to do differently, to change, it was when she'd reached for that damn phone.

He'd called her. He'd given her information pertinent to a crime. He was helping her. She'd thanked him for saving her life. And when he'd said she was welcome, it was absolutely true. She knew from his voice, from the way he'd paused, that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. She wondered if it was still true, if he were conscious enough to realize what she'd done, if he'd still risk himself to save her.

She'd bet her life that he would.

The man in the front seat made a phone call, calmly telling someone that he'd be arriving shortly and they should be prepared. She wondered how he could remain so calm, deciding it had to have something to do with the fact that wasn't in her position. He wasn't kneeling there, watching the life drain out of someone, knowing he was to blame.

When they arrived at the clinic, Carter could only watch helplessly while two large men swooped in and lifted John off the seat. They placed him on a gurney and rolled him away while a group of people in scrubs descended on him. John's friend limped along behind them, trying to catch up. He stopped when he reached the door, which he was holding open for her.

But she wasn't there. She was still in the back of the car, shaking from the adrenaline.

He walked back toward her, inclining his head toward the building's door. "You're more than welcome to come in and wait with me."

She looked up, letting the startled man see the tears that were pouring down her cheeks. She shook her head, not at the offer, but at the situation. "I can't-how-why," she met the man's eyes and hoped he would convey her heartfelt sorrow to his friend, should John survive. "This was my fault."

The man didn't blink. He simply nodded. "I know." His flat tone indicated that he did, somehow, know. "But we can discuss that later." He glanced at the door as though hoping there might already be an update on his friend. "As much as I would personally disagree, I feel certain Mr. Reese would not object to you waiting inside for word on his condition."

"Reese? That's his name?" The word rolled around in her head until she finally decided that it suited the enigma perfectly. "John Reese."

The man nodded, finally holding out his hand. "Yes. I'm Mr. Finch."

"That's not what it was last time we talked."

"Well, no." He glanced back at the doors again. "It is, however, what Mr. Reese calls me."

"I guess that's good enough for me." She shrugged, reaching to shake Finch's hand.

Upon seeing the blood, he snatched his hand back. Yeah, Reese's blood was all over her hands. In so many ways.

She wiped her hands on her pants before she swiped at her tears. "I'd like to find out how he is."

"As I said before, you can come inside." Finch stepped back to give her enough room to get out of the car, but seemed to realize the source of her continued reluctance. "I assure you, no harm will come to you. These are skilled medical professionals who know nothing of the situation and I am not inclined toward physical violence."

Carter looked around as she climbed out of the car. They could be anywhere in the city, nondescript brick facades in every direction. She hadn't been thinking when she'd gotten in the car with two dangerous men. She'd let her feelings rule her and, as she realized the enormity of the mistake she may well have made, it could quite possibly the worst, and last, mistake she'd ever made. But it had been her head, and her unfailing desire to do the right thing, that had started the whole domino chain.

With a hard swallow, she started toward the building. Whether it was a mistake or not didn't really matter. A man had saved her life and she'd repaid him by getting him shot. She owed it to him and to her conscience to see if he survived.

Finch was nothing if not true to his word. The inside of the building appeared to be a run-of-the-mill medical clinic. The late hour of the visit meant none of the support staff were there, however there was plenty of evidence that they would return. Charts and files were piled on desks, computer monitors with sticky notes taped on them stood by well-used keyboards. An empty coffee cup sat by a telephone. A high counter held a sign-in sheet with all its names crossed off, the times of their visits left visible next to the blacked out names. From the hallway on the left, Carter heard the drone of a TV with a pre-programed medical channel reminding the empty room about the importance of routine vaccines for children. Below the TV mounted high on the wall were vending machines. The whole place smelled of sickness and antiseptic.

She followed Finch as he walked through the double doors and down the right-hand corridor marked "staff only." It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but she still found herself looking over her shoulder, expecting someone to tell her she was in the wrong place. There was no one following them. In fact, removed from the drone of the television and the hum of the vending machines, the only sound she could here were their own footsteps. Though she knew she could best Finch in a fight, there were other people, deathly silent people, in the building. She just didn't know where.

The short man continued halfway down the long hallway, stopping at a group of chairs. He gestured to them. "Ladies first."

Spying a restroom along the opposite wall, she nodded toward it. "I'm just going to wash my hands."

His eyes darted down, seeing her hands again, perhaps for the first time recognizing that the blood stains all over her shirt and pants belonged to his friend. His face paled and he sat down heavily in one of the chairs.

It was refreshing to hear footsteps a few minutes after she'd finally taken a seat beside Finch. A petite woman was making her way down the hall towards them. The woman took one look at Finch and straightened up, squaring her shoulders, smiling widely.

"Excuse, miss," he addressed her as soon as she got a bit closer. "Please get something for my companion to wear." He motioned at Carter without turning his head. "Something less nauseating."

At first, Carter was pissed. How dare he insult her clothing?

And then she realized it was the blood, John's blood, deepening to a disgusting brown as it dried all over her clothes.

"Oh, yes, sir, absolutely, sir." The woman nodded, even offered something almost like a bow, as she scampered away.

"Unless you're busy with the patient," he called after her, realizing after she'd run off that she might have been better occupied with trying to help John.

The woman returned a moment later, a set of green scrubs in her hands. "Here you are, ma'am."

"Thank you." Carter accepted them as graciously as she could. It felt wrong to take them, to even think about changing into them, to strip away the evidence of what she'd done. Before the woman could walk away, Carter reached out to stop her. "Wait, how is he? Do you know what's happening?"

The woman's eyes darted to Finch, who nodded once. "They took him into surgery. I'm not sure what's going on right now, but I can go find out."

Finch held up his hand. "No, please, don't interrupt them."

"Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, I won't bother them." She hesitated as though she feared a reprimand for trying to answer Carter's question. "Can I get anything for you?"

Carter expected him to dismiss the woman, but instead, he offered her his keys. "Yes, please have someone get the back of my car cleaned. I'm afraid there's some blood back there. I'd really rather not have to see it."

"Yes, sir, right away." She darted off again, happy to have been charged with something important.

Carter stared at the man in wonder, trying to figure out who the hell he was that a nurse at a medical clinic he obviously owned was so eager to get his car detailed for him.

He turned toward her then, his eyes almost amused at her expression. "Money can buy nearly everything, Detective Carter." His eyes moved down to her clothes, to the blood stains, then slowly back to hers. "Everything except justice, it seems."

Feeling like she'd been dismissed and like this very rich, very powerful man was extremely angry with her, Carter took the scrubs back into the bathroom to change. It wouldn't have taken her long, except she wasn't really in a hurry to return to Finch's side. As much as she'd be happy to hear an update, provided it was good news, on Reese's condition, she was more afraid of the opposite. Finch had said she was welcome only because Reese wouldn't object to it. If Reese didn't survive, she was certain Finch would overcome his personal disinclination toward violence.

Besides her physical safety, Carter had other concerns should Reese not live, most of which she really didn't want to consider. It was simply for the best that the man recover. For everyone involved.

She took her time, stripping off her bloodstained clothes and throwing them in the trash. She didn't want to see them again, not even if Reese turned out to be fine. They were ruined, not just from the stains, but from guilt. And guilt wouldn't wash out. Best to leave it behind in a place she'd never see again. The blood had seeped through the thin cotton fabric, leaving smears on her skin. Somehow, it was worse than seeing it on her clothes. She was crying again as she wet a paper towel under the faucet and then pumped soap on top from the bottle next to the sink. It felt like more of a betrayal to wash away the evidence of her involvement, but she couldn't stand to see it there either. Perhaps if she just knew that he was ok, even if he was still breathing at all, maybe that would make it better. She settled for just washing off her arms where they'd be visible beyond the short sleeves of her borrowed top. The rest could be dealt with later, when she knew what price Reese had paid for helping her.

She dressed quickly, unconcerned with her appearance. The scrubs were far better suited for someone like Reese, someone tall and thin and male. On her, the pants were too long and too tight while the armholes on the top were so big they hung nearly down to her waist. With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and rejoined Finch in the hallway. Settling into the uncomfortable chair, she resigned herself to a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Somewhere around two in the morning, the doctor appeared. There were still smears of blood on his white coat, surgical booties covering his shoes. He extended his hand to Finch, who rose stiffly to greet him.

"The patient is resting comfortably."

Finch let out the breath he'd been holding. "Oh thank god."

The doctor smiled. "The blood loss was more significant than his wounds, which we were able to correct with a few transfusions. He's heavily sedated for now, but I see no reason he won't recover quickly."

Finch nodded. "Yes, that's good news." He shook the doctor's hand again. "Thank you for your hard work, Dr. Reynolds."

"Always happy to help, Harold."

Harold. So she had names. Not that she had any reasonable expectation of finding either John Reese or Harold Finch if she were to investigate. She noticed the way Finch glanced at her, his face twitching the slightest bit at the realization Carter had his name.

The two men began to walk, back toward the entrance.

"Um, excuse me," she had to clear her voice to get the words out. The men turned to her as though they'd forgotten she was there that quickly. "Can I see him?"

Reynolds glanced at her, but his eyes moved to Finch.

It was Reese's strange friend who answered, reminding Carter that they absolutely were not in a hospital. "Yes, I don't see why not."

And then they walked away, leaving her to find her way to Reese's room, undisturbed by any personnel.

He lay terribly still, his tall, muscular frame seeming slight and fragile under the sheet. A heart monitor beeped steadily, assuring her that he was much better off than the last time she'd seen him. His skin tone had deepened back to the color she assumed it normally was, the way it had looked when she first saw him as Snow pulled up to him in the garage rather than the ghostly white appearance he'd had by the time they'd gotten into Finch's car. She reached out, unexpectedly needing to touch him, finding an immeasurable sense of peace when she found his hand warm and heavy in hers.

It was the first time she really had a chance to look at him, having only had moments before Snow's partner had started firing. The man was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. She compared his clean-cut current appearance to the memory of the wild, unkempt way he'd looked the first time they'd met. She'd thought he was a creep, a drunken homeless man with some twisted, murderous intent. The stories she'd heard of his exploits, usually wearing a suit, never made any sense. She'd wondered how the homeless man who smelled like a liquor cabinet could pass by so many people unnoticed. As she'd pursued him, she'd realized her first impression of him had been wrong, especially after he saved her life. He was smart, skilled, and, now, quite attractive. With a shave and a haircut, she realized how easily he'd been able to blend into the crowd.

There were only two things that had remained intact from their first meeting – his intense, dark stare and his intoxicating voice. She wondered about the glare he'd given her on the roof of the parking garage, couldn't figure out what he'd been trying to tell her in that moment. But now she knew. He'd been disappointed in her. He'd trusted her enough to reveal where he was and she'd let him down. He certainly knew the moment Snow pulled up what was about to happen. And seeing her there, with Snow, no wonder he'd shown her no recognition or kindness in his expression.

Though his eyes had stayed intense, the anger behind them was gone after she'd helped him into the car, when she'd stared at him and tried to determine what to do. While he was injured, while he'd been fighting to escape with his life, he'd also processed her involvement and he'd realized she hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd forgiven her without her even needing to ask.

But still, even knowing that he would recover, she wanted to see his eyes open, to hear the liquid heat of his voice teasing her. Just hearing him say her name again would be enough.

She left his side long enough to retrieve one of those horrible plastic chairs and drag it to his bedside. Then she sat down, took his hand again, and waited. For what, she didn't know, but she figured she'd know when it happened.

#####

Nurses appeared periodically to check on him over the night. Carter was prepared each time one entered to defend herself and why she was there, but it was never necessary. This was a private facility and they knew she had the permission of the owner. She tried to stay out of their way, backing away when they pulled off the sheet to examine his wounds, letting go of his hand when they checked on his IV and hung new bags of medicine.

She didn't go far, never out of the room.

Maybe she was waiting for him to wake up and tell her to fuck off.

Maybe she just wanted to see what color his eyes were. She hadn't noticed earlier, and now suddenly, she was desperate to find out.

It was long after dawn, late enough that she was starting to wonder what the hell she was supposed to do about the job she had no intention of showing up to that day, late enough that she knew she needed to check in to let Taylor and her mom know she was fine, late enough that she supposed Finch would pop in to check on his friend's progress, but she continued to wait, unable to concentrate on anything else long enough to actually attend to it.

And then, though it was so soft she wasn't sure it was real, his hand tightened around hers.

She stood up, amused by her instinct to check her hair and the remains of her makeup before she faced such an attractive man. She was sitting by his bedside, however, which she decided had to buy her some forgiveness for her sloppy appearance.

It took forever still before his hand twitched again, but this time, she noted a change in his breathing as well. Her heart started to beat faster, knowing she was about to let him witness how far over the line he'd passively convinced her to tread.

His head turned on the pillow, turning toward her, his mind probably attempting to work through the grogginess from the medications to figure out who was touching him. His eyelids opened slowly, so slowly Carter could tell how heavy they were to him.

And finally, his magnificent eyes moved to hers.

It seemed to take all his strength, but one side of his mouth curved up in a smirk that was so fucking sexy she was sure it was illegal in seven states.

She wanted to say something brilliant, something funny, something he'd say to her, but she couldn't think of anything. Instead she squeezed his hand and smiled back. "Hey."

He blinked, but that was all she received in response. She supposed she couldn't really ask for more from a man who'd been shot and had surgery and was heavily sedated.

She nodded at nothing in particular, just pleased to have a conscious audience, regardless of the shape he was in. "Doc said you're going to be ok, good as new. You know, now you're not bleeding all over me."

His eyes slipped closed, but rather than falling back to sleep, he was simply expending his energy on speech instead of holding her eyes. "And whose fault was that?"

She chuckled, wondering how he could joke, realizing that he remembered he'd forgiven her. Or maybe waking up and finding her there with him was enough for him to reach the same conclusion about her all over again. His ability to trust, to forgive, came as a shock to her after the way Snow had talked about him. The way he'd run from the precinct that first night, the way he'd refused to talk to her, the way he'd stayed annoyingly close yet completely out of reach ever since – it all pointed to a man who didn't trust anyone. But there he was, a few hours away from almost dying because of her bad call and he was joking with her.

Wanting to reward him, she smiled warmly. "You weren't ever going to let me catch up to you otherwise, were you?"

His thumb traced lightly over the back of her hand and, intent on ignoring the unexpected feelings it stirred in her, she decided he didn't even realize he was doing it. But then he opened his eyes again, holding hers as he continued to stroke her hand.

"I would have let you win eventually."

She leaned in closer, sucked into his teasing the way she always was. "Eventually, huh?"

"Never took you for a cheater." His eyes were drifting lower and she fully expected he'd be out cold in a few seconds.

"I didn't cheat. I just took a shortcut."

His mouth only managed half a smile. "You couldn't wait?"

She realized his eyes weren't closing after all. They were just focused lower than hers. With a start, it occurred to her that he was staring at her mouth. Ducking down to catch his eyes, she pointedly looked at his lips, so he would know she'd caught him, caught him and didn't care. "I could have waited. I just didn't want to."

Reese's eyes darted back to hers, their dark heat a black hole that threatened to swallow her whole.

Obviously Snow had his head up his ass. Reese was a trusting man.

Or maybe Snow had been exactly right. Maybe Reese had simply chosen to trust her and nothing was going to dissuade him from that decision.

But she'd be damned if she wasn't going to do everything in her power to redeem herself, even if he didn't seem to think she needed redeeming.

"So how are you feeling?"

His eyes lazily drifted away, moving from the IV taped on the back of his hand up the tube to the bag that was dripping into his veins. Then he laughed as his hand tightened around hers. "I'm feeling fucking great. What the hell is that?"

She reached up, twisting the plastic bag to see what label it had, but there was nothing on it. Shrugging, her hand moved back to his. "I don't know. Must be something good."

His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings, eventually falling on their joined hands. "What the," he met her eyes, his own widening suddenly. The open ease on his face disappeared, replaced by the guarded darkness she'd seen earlier. He jerked his hand away, reaching over with his other one to rip the tape and tubing from his skin. Blood spurted from his hand, but he didn't pause as he threw the sheet off and pushed himself up, pulling the leads from the heart monitor loose.

"Oh, hell no, don't even try that shit." She darted around the bed, blocking his path and shoving at his chest in an attempt to get him to lie down.

He wasn't having it, at least, he was trying to not have it. He batted at her hands, using his weight and gravity to win the battle for him. The moment his feet touched the floor, his legs buckled, his body slumping against her.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned as his side, the one he'd just had operated on, slammed into her.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Get your ass in bed."

She felt him shaking and she gripped him tighter, knowing she was hurting him but unwilling to let him fall. She glanced up, seeing that he was smiling.

No, that wasn't right. He was laughing.

His laughter died back, leaving a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eye. As she tried to maneuver him back toward the bed, his hand moved along her back, her thin cotton clothes doing nothing to mask the heat from his palm. It was the medicine; it had to be. She ignored it, recognizing that he wasn't fighting her as she tried to shove him back on the bed without causing him further injury.

Unfortunately, the bed was too high and she couldn't lift the man, not even if he was pretending to be cooperative. She had only managed to get him to backed up against the bed while she stood facing him. He was leaning on her, staring, smirking away.

Shaking her head, she found herself starting to smile back. "Bed. Please?"

Suddenly his hand was on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. "But I hardly know you, detective."

And then she was laughing too. She let herself enjoy it, being near him, both of them laughing, the first lighthearted moment she'd had in a long time. But realizing that his hand was still bleeding and that her body was about to give out from supporting his weight, she had to sober them up. "Come on, John, can you lie down or do I need to call for help?"

He glanced at the bed, a look almost like longing passing over his face, and then turned his eyes back to hers. "I can't stay here." He sounded like he was sorry, and had she been in his physical condition, she would have been sorry she wasn't lying down too.

"You're safe here."

He shook his head. "You won't be able to stop them. They'll find me. Hospitals are the first place they'll look for me." He tried to turn away, but only got as far as lifting his arm before a phone started to ring. He looked around, locating his phone lying on the table beside the bed at the same time she did. "Can you hand me that?"

She saw the way his arms were shaking from trying to support himself, undoubtedly trying to take the weight off her while not putting any pressure on his abdomen or leg. "How about you let it go to voice mail?"

"It's Finch. He's probably calling to tell me they found me. I have to get out of here." Beads of sweat started to break out on his forehead and his eyes were taking on a slightly crazed look.

"This isn't a hospital. Finch brought you here. I guess he owns the place or something." She waited while he searched her face for any hint of deception, but she realized she was losing him, his fear and paranoia getting the better of him as the pain killers wore off. Not that she could blame him after the evening he'd had.

She grabbed the phone and handed it to him. "Here, ask him yourself."

He hadn't even lifted the phone to his ear when she heard Finch's voice. "Get back in the bed, Mr. Reese. It's my clinic and no one knows you're there. In fact," he paused, his voice trailing off. "Yes, your former coworkers are currently scouring the parking building at St. George's Hospital. They've locked down the building and they're searching every car. They have no idea we got you out."

Reese's eyes were drifting closed as his friend spoke, but they jerked open. "We?"

"Judas had a change of heart after she turned you in. It seems she doesn't bear guilt well, didn't even collect her thirty pieces of silver. Let her help you get back in bed."

Realizing that he could see them, Carter scanned the room. She couldn't see a camera anywhere, so she decided he must have been listening instead. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment when she thought about the way she'd flirted shamelessly with a man she'd expected was too drugged to remember it. It hadn't occurred to her that there might be a witness, one that certainly disapproved.

Reese offered her the phone, accepting his friend's assurance and letting himself fall back on the bed. As soon as dropped the phone back on the table, Carter helped him swing his legs up and then watched as he collapsed against the pillow.

"I'm going to go get somebody to fix you back up." She motioned at his hand and the blood he'd smeared all over everything, including her again. "And look for another change of clothes."

"Wait," he muttered, clearly too weak to put up much of a fight. His hand, the one that wasn't bleeding was reaching out for her though he could barely lift it from the bed. "Don't."

She took his hand, unable to stand seeing him in distress of any sort. "Didn't we talk about this already? These are your friend's people. No one's going to come after you here." Squeezing his hand, she caught his eyes. "I'll be right back."

"No, please." He shook his head, swallowing hard as he tried to force out the words. "No pain killers. I don't like them."

"You got shot. You had surgery. You need pain killers." Suspecting reasoning wasn't going to work, she tried another approach. "Besides, you liked them a few minutes ago."

"I can't tell what's real."

Things clicked into place, his relaxed smiles, his easy forgiveness, his apparent happiness to see her, his blatant flirting. No wonder. He hadn't known it was her. He probably thought she was someone else entirely. She felt like an idiot, imagining how Finch would reveal everything she'd said, thinking how they'd share a good laugh over her stupidity.

Nodding, she stepped back and tried to pull her hand away. She needed to put her walls back up and keep him on the other side of them. "Ok, no pain meds. I'll tell them."

He picked up on the change in her attitude, his hand refusing to release hers as his eyes narrowed. "Jos?"

She looked at him. Just looked. He was hurt, by her, again. She didn't understand it, but she knew it was absolutely true. Her face, and her determination, softened. "You're bleeding, John. Let's get that taken care of, then we can-" She stopped mid-sentence. She didn't know what she wanted to say.

They could what? Have a little chat? Confide their innermost secrets to one another? Hold hands and whisper sweet nothings? What the hell was she doing? What the hell was she thinking?

Though she had no answers, she knew she shouldn't look too hard. She didn't want them. The answers were only going to lead to more questions. Might as well quit while she was ahead.

"I'll just get that nurse." She turned around, withdrawing her hand before he summoned up the energy to stop her.

But she only got as far as the door before his words stopped her as effectively as his grip would have.

"I feel it too, Jos."

She nodded without looking back, unwilling to let him see the tears his words brought to her eyes. So they both felt it. That was something.

It was one answer that didn't hurt.

She headed out to look for a nurse with a smile.

At least now she knew what color his eyes were.


End file.
